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LIBRARY 

Unrvsrsity  of  CaWorria 

IRVINE 


Mmmi 


?m 


\-\urvr   von  r^.eA\z.eA 
VOLK-SONGS       ~ 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE 


mk  COMPARATIONIS  LITTERAMM 
UNIVERSARUM 

BY 

HENRY  PHILLIPS  Jr 


PHILADELPHIA 

PEIXTED  FOR  PRIVATE  CIRCULATION 
1885 


?5 


PREFATORY    NOTE. 


'T^HE    originals  from  which  these  translations    are 

■*■       made  were  gathered  by  the  learned  Dr.  Hugo 

von  Meltzel,  of  Kolozsvar,  Hungary,  and  published 

by    him    in    the     Osszehasotilito     Irodalointorthielmi 

Lapok   {Acta     Comparationis    Litterarwn    Universa- 

riwi),  a  journal   of  great  merit,    of  which  he  is  the 

editor. 

As  they  have  never  heretofore  appeared  in  English, 

the  translator  ventures  to  present  these  studies  of  a 

popular  mind. 

Philadelphia, 

320  S.  Eleventh  St. 


MAGYAR  VOLK-SONGS. 


I. 

HALCYON  joys  are  o'er  me  shed ! 
'Round  my  velvet  hat  so  red 
Winds  a  posy  you  may  see 
That  my  brown  maid  plucked  for  me. 

Flowers  culled  she  from  the  mead, 
And  I  kissed  her  for  the  deed  ; 
Gather  another  for  me,  I  pray, 
And  I'll  hundred  kisses  pay. 

"  Baby  mine,  ope'  wide  thy  door, 
'Tis  no  Slav  that  stands  before  ; 
'Tis  a  Magyar-born,  I  say — 
Open — wherefore  this  delay  ?  " 

"Well  enough  I  know  thee  now. 
But  I'll  trust  not  to  thy  vow ; 
Light  of  love,  man  is  forsworn. 
Turns  away  and  laughs  to  scorn." 

II. 

I  ne'er  have  robbed  nor  hurt  my  betters. 
Yet  here,  conscripted,  sit  in  fetters. 


I 


VOLK-SONGS. 


A  huzzar's  jacket  fain  I'd  wear, 
For  now  I  trot  on  Shanks's  mare. 

Proud  looks  he  from  his  charger's  back, 
When  on  the  march,  and  smokes  tabak. 

The  footman  takes  his  weary  way 
Through  miry  morass,  swamp  and  clay. 

Loud  oaths  on  guns  and  shoes  resound 
When  in  the  marsh  he's  almost  drowned. 

And  e'en  the  axe  the  butcher  swung 
Is  cursed,  that  lamed  the  kid  so  young : 

For  since  it  means  of  motion  lacks 
The  troops  must  bear  it  on  their  backs. 

III. 
Of  what  use  is  town  or  state 
When  a  maid  can  find  no  mate  ? 
Of  what  good  this  Puszta  free — ? 
Barna  Pista''*'  loves  not  me. 

What  avail  me  jewels  rare 
If  true  love  is  absent  there  ? 
What  the  toil-full  world  if  I 
Like  a  flower  must  bloom  and  die  ? 


♦  Brown  Stephen. 


VOLK- SONGS. 


What  avails  my  slender  waist 
If  no  arm  is  'round  it  placed  ? 
What  the  starry  heavens'  glow 
If  my  heart  is  fraught  with  woe  ? 

Weeping  at  the  dawn  of  day 
For  my  sweetheart  far  away, 
But  one  thing  I  fain  would  have, 
Peace  that  waits  me  in  the  grave. 

IV. 
Golden  life  a  maiden  leads, 
Lovers  many  watch  her  needs  ! 
But  the  laddie — fie,  for  shame, — 
Bloodhound-like  hunts  nightly  game. 

To  their  spinning  maidens  go 
When  the  sunset's  ceased  to  glow. 
But  the  lad  outside  remains, 
Peeping  through  the  casement-panes. 

As  dull  night  the  village  shades 
At  their  spinning  sit  the  maids  ; 
But  the  lover,  luckless,  bold. 
To  the  window's  frozen  cold. 

Frozen  to  the  glass  his  lips, 
Frozen  to  his  finger  tips  I  .  .  .  . 


VOLK-SONGS. 


Quick,  in  pity,  bring  a  light ! 

First,  we'll  thaw  his  mouth,  poor  wight ! 

V. 

Tell  me  how  to  safely  reach  thee, 

Sweetest,  dainty  maid. 
Lest  through  snarling  of  the  mastiffs 

I  should  be  betrayed  ? 
"Each  I'll  throw  a  piece  of  meat, 
They'll  not  bark,  but  silent  eat, 

Tlijen  you'll  safely  come." 

Tell  me  how  to  safely  reach  thee, 

Sweetest,  dainty  maid, 
Lest  through  stabled  steeds  loud  trampling 

I  should  be  betrayed  ? 
"  Hay  I'll  strow  before  each  eye, 
They'll  not  move  but  quiet  lie. 

Then  you'll  safely  come." 

Tell  me  how  to  safely  reach  thee. 

Sweetest,  dainty  maid. 
Lest  through  cackling  of  the  geeseyard 

I  should  be  betrayed  ? 
"Grain  I'll  spread  before  each  beak, 
Then  no  trumpet-note  will  speak, 

And  you'll  safely  come." 


VOLK-SONGS. 


Tdl  me  how  to  safely  reach  thee, 

Sweetest,  dainty  maid, 
Lest  through  Tom-cats'  shrill  mi-au-ing 

I  should  be  betrayed  ? 
"  'Fore  each  cat  some  milk  I'll  place, 
Then  all  noises  they  will  cease, 

And  you'll  safely  come." 

Tell  me  how  to  safely  reach  thee, 

Dearest,  dainty  maid. 
Lest  through  little  mice's  twittering 

I  should  be  betrayed  ? 
"  Shame  !  thou  hero  !  leave  the  house  I 
To  be  frightened  at  a  mouse  ! 

Now,  thou  shalt  not  come  !" 


VL 

Wretched  comrade,  void  of  rest. 
Always  at  the  market  guest. 
Many  a  horse  and  cow  I  steal. 
So  I  gain  my  daily  meal. 

Naught  have  I  of  any  good. 
But  my  body  and  young  blood  ; 
Were  I  only  by  my  dove 
Woe  and  pain  would  yield  to  love. 


I 


VOLK-SONGS. 


Naught  care  I  if  others  weep, 
Bread  and  butter  let  them  keep  ; 
To  the  Tanya  turn  I  free 
Where  my  sweetheart  waits  for  me. 

Naught  care  I  for  treasure's  store, 
Jewels,  diamonds,  golden  ore  ; 
Envy  follows  not  my  tread, 
Danger  threatens  not  my  head. 

When  in  earth  I  rest  at  last, 
Fame  and  name  forever  past. 
O'er  my  grave  shall  flowers  spread, 
Violets  blue  and  roses  red. 

VII. 
Poor,  dear  Berki  !  who'll  reply, 
Why  did  poor,  old  Berki  die  ? 
Wine  enough  they  failed  to  give, 
So  friend  Berki  ceased  to  live. 

Had  they  filled  the  glass  in  time 
Berki  died  not  in  his  prime ; 
Ne'er  a  drop,  not  e'en  the  worst — 
So  our  Berki  died  athirst. 

Let  no  tongue  e'er  lisp  his  name, 
Good  friend  Berki  sleeps  in  fame  ; 


VOLK-SONGS.  13 


Let  none  seek  the  sickness  dire 
Through  which  Berki  did  expire. 

Wine  in  time  they  failed  to  give, 
So  poor  Berki  ceased  to  Hve ; 
Had  they  filled  the  glass,  I  trow, 
Berki  would  be  living  now. 

VIII. 
Though  but  sixteen  years  I  bear 
I'm  a  thief,  expert  in  snare  ; 
Steeds  some  thirty-three  I  stole, 
Not  a  hoof  betrayed  my  goal. 

If  the  judge  should  cause  me  care, 
Quick  I'll  loot  a  spanking  pair  ; 
Whilst  I  hide  them  out  of  sight. 
Me  to  supper  he'll  invite. 

In  my  purse  is  gold  galore, 
Gallant  nags  in  plenteous  store 
In  my  stalls — not  those  I've  stole' — 
Swift  they  passed  from  my  control. 

But  there's  one,  a  dun-coat  bright. 
With  dark  limbs  o'er-flecked  with  white. 
Who  my  form,  'twixt  night  and  morn, 
Pesth  to  Debrezin  hath  borne. 


14  VOLK-SONGS. 


IX. 

On  no  head  should  curse  of  God 
Ever  fall ;  but  if  the  rod 
Must  descend,  then  may  he  pay 
My  assassin's  deed  to-day. 

Where  thou  seek'st  repose  in  shade 
Withered  trees  shall  fill  the  glade ; 
When  thou'd  fain  in  Csarda  rest 
May  its  fires  consume  thy  breast ! 

Crops  shall  blight  and  vintage  fail, 
Insect  hosts  shall  fields  assail ; 
Both  thy  blades,  so  sharp  and  true. 
Rend  thy  heart — and  pierce  it  through. 

X. 

Now  beneath  this  clan  1  fall ; 
And  they  bend  me  to  their  thrall ; 
Sorrow  sore  came  with  my  wife. 
No  more  pleasure's  left  in  life. 

Take  good  heed,  my  friend,  to  see 
What  your  sweetheart's  mother  may  be  ; 
Should  she  be  of  evil  kind — 
All  your  days  you'll  bitter  find  ! 


VOLK-SONGS.  15 

XI. 
"  Broad  the  rolling  Danube  speeds, 
Narrow  bridge  across  it  leads: 
Dearest,  heed  thy  steps,  take  care, 
Lest  thou  slip  in,  unaware." 

"  Where  the  Donau's  rapids  brawl, 
Never,  never,  shall  I  fall ; 
But  with  you,  my  sweetest  dove, 
Must  I  tumble  deep  in  love." 

XII. 
"  Come,  come,  my  prettie  birdie;  just  see  the  cage  I 

hold, 
Here  is  a  home  I've  built  for  thee,  of  purest,  shining 

gold; 
The  golden  casements  glisten,  the  silver  hinges  clink. 
From  out  of  diamond  basins,  see,  thou  shalt  eat  and 

drink  ! " 

"No,  no,  I  cannot  dwell  thus,  in  golden  bonds  re- 
strained, 

But  in  the  merry  greenwood  must  I  roam,  unchecked, 
unchained ; 

Where  juniper  is  plenty,  'midst  tender  berries  bright, 

I  quench  my  thirst  in  dew  drops  and  whet  my  ap- 
petite." 


i6  VOLK-SONGS. 


XIII. 

Seek  out  Szegedin's  Csarda's  sign, 
And  whilst  the  hostess  brings  the  wine, 
See  Bar7ia  Bandi*  at  his  ease, 
With  charger  tethered  near  'midst  trees. 

"  God  bless  all  here,"  and  when  drunk  up 
He  bids  his  neighbor  taste  the  cup  ; 
He  cocks  his  round  hat  o'er  his  ear 
As  Ba?'?ia  Baiidis  song  rings  clear. 

"  From  Theiss's  strand  black  clouds  swift  move, 

When  Barna  Bandi  weeps  his  love ; 

Beneath  the  limbs  of  giant  oak 

Brown  Andres'  smothered  tears  do  choke." 

"  Weep  not  thy  sweetheart's  fickle  mind. 
For  many  just  as  good  you'll  find  ! 
Our  dark-skinned  maids  will  make  amend. 
Forget  her  ;  heaven  another'U  send." 

He  speaks  no  word,  gulps  down  his  woe, 
His  raven  eyes  with  tear-drops  glow  ! 
He  drains  his  glass — his  steed  bestrides, 
And  like  the  storm  to  Puszta  rides  ! 

*  Brown  Andres. 


VOLK-SONGS.  17 


XIV. 
Pretty  Nona.  Good  morning,  Judge,  good  morning, 

You're  early  up  to  day  ! 
Judge.  What  brings  thee  here,  Ilona, 

So  early  out  this  way  ? 
Pretty  liona.  My  geese  I  drove,  as  usual. 
To  pasture  orf"rich  grass. 
The  judge's  son  sprang  on  them 

And  drove  them  down  the  pass  ; 
The  judge's  son  hath  ruined 
My  whole  goosedom,  alas  ! 
Judge.  Say  then,  what  shall  I  pay  thee. 

For  all  these  stately  geese  ? 
Pretty  Ilona.  Sir  Judge,  you  must  be  noble, 

And  give  me  back  my  peace. 
For  every  downy  feather 

A  coin  of  purest  gold, 
For  every  slender  anklet 

A  spoon  of  gilded  mould. 
For  every  weakly  winglet 

A  burnished  golden  plate, 
For  every  silvery  throatlet 

A  golden  trumpet's  weight. 
Judge.  Your  wishes,  sweet  Ilona,  are 

Too  dear  a  price  for  me. 
The  judge's  youthful  son  may  hang 
Upon  the  gallows-tree. 


VOLK-SONGS. 


Pretty  Ilona.  A  bargain  !  .  .  .  But  with  rosebuds  sweet 
His  gallows  shall  I  deck ! 
My  tender  arms  shall  be  the  noose 
That  winds  about  his  neck  ! 

XV. 

Tell  me,  comrafde,  why  my  sack- 
Sleeves  are  closed  and  buttoned  back  ? 
In  one  tinder,  steel  and  stone, 
In  the  other  bank  notes  are  sewn. 

If  the  Puszta  fails  to  please 
Csarda  surely'll  give  me  ease  ; 
Hostess  waits  upon  my  wink, 
Brings  the  guest  her  best  to  drink. 

Still  they  envy  me  and  say 
That  on  honest  folks  I  prey  ; 
Dickens  seize  them — I  ne'er  speak  ! 
He  who  drinks  not  must  grow  weak. 

XVI. 

I'm  a  laddie,  poor  and  deft. 
Daily  bread  I  earn  by  theft ; 
Shcfuld  my  heart  from  stealing  bend 
Then  my  life  would  surely  end. 


VOLK-SONGS.  19 


If  I  cease  my  pilfering  trade 
Still  I'm  called  a  filching  blade  ; 
So  I'll  keep  my  robber's  name 
Striving  to  deserve  the  fame. 

If  I  fill  my  glass  or  not 
Still  they  call  me  "  drunken  sot ;" 
So  I'll  keep  my  tippler's  name, 
Striving  to  deserve  the  fame. 

XVII. 
Seated  in  their  spin-room  high 
Maidens  weep,  as  shuttles  fly  ; 
"  Mother,  quickly  help  impart, 
Spinning  weareth  out  our  heart." 

"  Pretty  shoes  I'll  give,  for  peace, 
If  your  crying  you  will  cease." 
"  Mother,  quickly  help  impart, 
'Tis  not  shoes  that  grieve  our  heart,' 

"  Handsome  gowns  shall  you  array, 
If  you'll  dry  your  tears  away." 
"  Mother,  quickly  help  impart, 
'Tis  not  gowns  that  grieve  our  heart. 

"  See,  I'll  bring  you  tender  beaux, 
If  you'll  end  your  wailing  woes." 


VOLK-SONGS. 


"  Mother,  now  you  help  impart, 
Lack  of  lovers  wrings  our  heart." 

XVIII. 

I'm  a  widow's  girl;  my  feet 

Like  pure  snow  are  bright ; 
He  who  doubts  my  word  may  look — 

I'll  give  him  the  right. 

« 

I'm  my  mother's  child  ;  my  rosy 

Lips  o'er  pearls  unite  ; 
He  who  doubts  my  word  may  kiss — 

I'll  give  him  the  right. 

XIX. 

Sultry  heats  are  on  us  now, 
Soon  there'll  come  a  change,  I  trow ; 
From  the  rose,  dear  to  my  heart, 
Soon  must  I  in  grief  depart. 

Now  my  rosebud's  gone  away, 
Gone  in  stranger-lands  to  stray-. 
Left  for  me  a  message  true 
That  his  steps  I  should  pursue. 

Would  that  I  but  knew  the  street. 
Where  he  placed  his  weary  feet, 


VOLK-SONGS. 


With  a  golden  plough  I'd  trace 
Furrows  o'er  its  precious  face  ! 

And  the  seeds  that  there  I'd  sow 
Should  be  pearls  of  purest  glow, 
And  to  moisten  their  earth-bed 
Many  a  tear  my  eyes  should  shed. 

All  around  with  grief  I'd  weep, 
Hang  up  cloths  of  mourning  deep 
At  the  day-dawn,  black  as  night, 

At  the  sun-set,  snowy  white. 

XX. 

Hath  the  night  turned  to  red  day  ? 
Must  my  precious  flee  away  ? 

My  jewel,  yet  stay, 

A  little  delay. 
Sweetest  flower,  my  voice  obey. 

Sinks  the  sun  at  dim  twilight. 
Wilt  thou  come  to-morrow  night  ? 

Thou,  my  life. 

My  longing,  strife, 
All  the  world  to  me,  dear  wight ! 


VOLK-SONGS. 


XXI. 

The  meads  must  ripen  'neath  the  blaze 
Of  all-consuming  sunbeams'  lays  ; 
Alas,  my  beauty  burns  away, 
A-withered,  pained,  from  heart-decay  ! 

The  fields  at  last  are  ripened  o'er, 
The  farmer  garners  up  his  store  ; 
For  my  o'er-ripe  and  wearied  breath 
My  only  harvester  is — Death. 


TRANSYLVANIAN  ROUMANIAN 
VOLK-SONGS. 


VOLK-SONGS.  25 


VOLK-SONGS  OF  THE  TRANSYLVANIAN 
ROUMANIANS. 

I. 

I  roamed  of  late  the  woods  along, 
As  green  as  May,  and  full  of  song; 
Now  when  my  steps  press  the  same  way, 
'Tis  mute  and  withered,  ashen  gray. 

Oh  forest  brave  !  oh  lofty  trees ! 
Spread  thy  cool  shadows  to  the  breeze ; 
That  cushioned  in  thy  mossy  bed 
My  lap  may  hold  my  darling's  head  ! 

{A.C.L.V.,  II r.  118,  1378.) 

II. 

Heather  flower,  it  cannot  be 
That  she's  broke  her  trist  with  me  ; 
In  the  darkness  hath  she  strayed, 
And  I've  lost  my  darling  maid, 
While  my  life  must  forfeit  be. 

{A.  C.  L.  v.,  I.  18,  g34.) 


26  VOLK-SONGS. 


III. 
Flirting  maiden,  this  for  thee 
Shall  my  wish  of  wishes  be  ; 
On  thy  door-siir,  hour  by  hour, 
Shalt  thou  shiver,  crouch  and  cower  ; 
Like  a  taper,  all  on  fire, 
Shalt  thcJti  burn  and  ne'er  expire  ; 
When  the  midnight  hour  outtones 
Death-cold  sweat  shall  rend  thy  bones  ; 
When  the  night  gives  place  to  day 
Icy  frost  shall  bear  thee  'way. 

{A.  C.  L.  v.,  I.  so,  966.) 

IV. 
Weeping  willow,  green  of  leaf, 
My  sweetheart  hath  wrought  me  grief. 
Folds  another  to  her  breast — 
Yet  this  troubles  not  my  rest. 
But  one  thing  doth  on  me  prey 
That  I  said  to  her  one  day, 
"  Dearest,  1  will  kisses  give, 
Nor  forget  thee  whilst  I  live." 

{A.  C.  L.  v.,  I.  8t,  ggj.) 

V. 
Why  direct  thy  saddened  mien 
To  yon  lofty  rock-ravine  ? 


VOLK-SONGS.  27 


Look,  what  near  before  thee  lies, 
To  the  vineyard  raise  thine  eyes. 
See,  a  wagon  rolls  away, 
Full  of  human  freight  to-day  ! 
Climb  the  appletree — your  beau 
Down  the  mountain-path  doth  go  ; 
Little  is  his  garment  worn. 
But  his  heart  hath  long  been  torn. 

{A.  C.  L.  v.,  I.  82,  ggS.) 

VI. 
Come  to  me,  thou  rosebud  brave. 
All  that's  sweet  in  life  shalt  have  ; 
Never  shalt  thou  shoeless  go, 
Save  alone  thou'd  have  it  so, 
Gladly  would  I  see  each  toe  ; 
To  the  mill-wheel  ne'er  shall  corn 
On  thy  burdened  back  be  borne  ; 
Yet  unless  thou  bear'st  the  sack 
Shall  thy  stomach  fodder  lack. 

{A.  C.  L.  r.,  ///.  86,  134s ■) 

VII. 
Swallow,  little  birdie  free, 
Will'st  a  message  bear  for  me  ? 
Take  this  note  to  far-off  land, 
Drop  it  in  my  sweetheart's  hand  ; 
Should  she  ask  from  whence  you  came, 
Should  she  seek  the  writer's  name, 


28  VOLK-SONGS. 


Say — the  one  from  whom  I've  flown, 
Loves  thee,  darhng,  thee  alone. 

{A.  C.  L.  v..  III.  87,  1346.) 

VIII. 
Poor  old  Gypsey  man  am  I, 
Parents  both  are  long  since  dead. 
For  my  griefs  there's  none  will  cry 
Though  my  gaze  o'er  all  hath  sped. 
In  the  heaven  the  stars  I  trace, 
On  the  earth  no  friendly  face. 
No  one  pitieth  my  sad  lot — 
God  alone  hath  not  forgot. 

{A.  C.  L.  V,,   V.  16,  fsSS.y 

IX. 
Dearest  love  in  stranger  land, 
Send  a  tiding  quick  to  hand  ; 
Through  the  post  or  through  the  sun 
And  my  life  in  pleasure'll  run; 
Through  the  post,  or  through  a  star, 
For  I  languish  while  thou'rt  far  ; 
And  my  raven  locks  each  day 
Leave  my  head  and  fall  away  ; 
Though  each  tress  with  butter  pure 
I  anoint  to  keep  it  sure. 
Of  no  use  e'en  honey-comb — 
Dearest,  will't  thou  ne'er  come  home  ! 

XA.  C.  L.  v.,   VI.  14,  1880.) 


TRANSYLVANIAN  ZIEGEUNER 
VOLK-SONGS. 


VOLK-SONGS.  31 


VOLK-SONGS  OF  THE  TRANSYLVANIAN 
ZIEGELNER. 

I. 

Kiss  me,  dearest  darling  mine, 
And  I'll  buy  a  ribbon  fine  ; 
Let  me  nestle  on  thy  arm, 
And  I'll  buy  a  Mente  *  warm  ; 
Should'st  thou  play  a  faithless  trick, 
Then  I'll  get  a  cudgel  thick. 

II. 
Crush  no  flowret  in  thy  way, 
List  to  what  its  petals  say  ; 
Let  me  dwell  in  spring-time  mild. 
None  shield  me  from  north  winds  wild. 
Like  thee,  I'm  a  Gypsey  child, 

III. 
Spruce  young  fellow,  fair  of  face, 
'Round  thy  cap  sweet  flov.-ers  place, 
Yet  for  all  the  buds  you  wear 
Sure  your  senses  are  not  there. 


*The  fur  mantle  worn  in  the  Hungarian  National  costume. 


32  VOLK-SONGS. 


IV. 

Tender  maiden,  free  from  care, 
Like  a  ducat,  fresh  and  fair  ; 
Withered  spinster,  haggard  wife, 
Like  a  weed  'midst  meadow  hfe. 

V. 

In  the  wood  and  in  the  tree 
Sings  the  birdie  when  he's  free  ; 
■"Neath  the  mother's  watchful  care 
Lives  the  maid  most  free  from  snare. 

VL 

Soon  will  Christmas  day  be  here, 
Scarce  is  wood,  and  bad  and  dear ; 
Heaven  end  the  serf's  despite  ! 
Send  him  wood,  and  bread  so  white. 

VII. 

Thou,  oh  God,  hast  decked  the  earth 
With  flowery  meads  and  joy  and  mirth, 
Hast  sent  the  cheering  sunbeam's  ray, 
And  hast  ordained  the  Easter-day  ; 
I  pray  thee,  God,  my  cot  inspect, 
My  table's  with  fresh  linen  decked. 


VOLK-SOXGS.  33 


VIII. 
In  the  wood  a  glee  bird  sings, 
Joyful  Gypsey  laddie  springs  ; 
When  Whitsuntide  comes  again, 
All  forgot  is  winter  pain. 

IX. 

In  flowery  meads  seek  roses  rare, 
And  kisses  from  thy  Lizzie  fair  ; 
Then  sing  and  dance  with  frolic  fire 
Before  thy  dear  one's  aged  sire ; 
And  if  his  liquor  mounts  above 
Take  speedy  care  to  tell  thy  love. 

{A.  C.  L.  v.,  I.  3.U36J) 

X. 

Ne'er  a  father's  care  I've  known, 
Poor  in  friends  I  roam  alone, 
Long  since  is  my  mother  dead, 
Sweetheart  starved  for  lack  of  bread ; 
Thou  alone,  my  fiddle's  song, 
Through  the  world  with  me  dost  throng. 

{A.  C.  L.  v.,  I.  tVA) 

XI. 
Forge  the  iron,  strike  with  might, 
Like  a  true-born  Gypsey  smite  ; 


34  VOLK-SONGS. 


Yet  for  all,  be  ever  poor, 
Full  of  woe,  my  heart  and  sore  ; 
Yet  should  I  win  a  precious  aim, 
Could  1  within  this  glowing  flame 
My  darling's  heart  till  tender  smite. 
No  man  was  e'er  so  rich  a  wight. 

{A.  C.  L.  v.,  II.  ^^J^) 

XII. 
Beauteous  is  the  maiden  fair, 
Bright  her  silken  robes,  and  rare ; 
But  a  Gypsey-girl's  for  me 
Far  a  sweeter  sight  to  see. 
In  the  grass  she'll  lie  so  still. 
Pet  and  kiss  me  all  I  will, 

{A.  C.  L.  v.,  II.  T-ff^) 

XIII. 
Maid,  thy  love  hath  proved  my  curse, 
Stripped  me  e'en  of  shirt  and  purse  ! 
God  shall  singe  thy  heart  with  pain. 
Then  my  own  will  burst  in  twain. 

{A.  C.  L.  F.,  //.  ^f  »^) 

XIV. 
He's  a  jolly  chap,  my  beau, 
Sure  none  others  like  him  grow; 


VOLK-SOXGS.  35 


In  town  gray  or  in  fields  green, 
No  one  like  him  can  be  seen. 
When  his  bow  the  strings  doth  sweep, 
Great  and  little,  all,  must  weep  ; 
If  throughout  the  world  you  go 
There's  none  other  like  him — no  ! 

(A.  C.  L.   v.,  II.  yf^^) 

XV. 
vSince  the  hour  I  saw  the  light 
Twenty  years  have  ta'en  their  flight ; 
Twice  ten  years  of  torture  slow, 
Scanty  pleasure,  plenty  woe. 

{A.C.L.  K.II.jII^) 

XVI. 
From  the  moment  I  was  born 
No  one  cared  for  me  forlorn. 
In  the  damp  grass  have  I  lain, 
'Till  for  baptism  fell  the  rain. 

{A.C.L.  KIII.j^^) 

XVII. 
God  of  mercy,  tell,  I  crave, 
How  my  soul  to  surely  save ! 
Shall  my  God  forgotten  be. 
While  I  rob  and  wassail  free  ? 


36  VOLK-SONGS. 


Had  I  but  three  happy  days, 
Then  in  peace  I'd  mend  my  ways. 
{A.  C. 

XVIII. 
My  wife's  mother's  drunk  again, 
Now,  for  once,  I'll  peace  obtain  ; 
Heaven  bless  her  host,  I  say, 
O'er  him  may  no  trouble  stray ! 
Should  she  only  soggy  be 
Like  another  dame  is  she ; 
Silence,  gently,  all  keep  still — 
And  I'll  do  just  what  I  will ! 

{A.  C.  L.  F 

XIX. 

Now  Bonschida's  far  from  here. 
And  my  sweetheart's  far,  I  fear  ; 
I  must  lie  in  lengthened  pain 
'Till  I  see  her  once  again. 
Then  I'll  kiss  her  mouth  so  white 
While  her  arms  enfold  me  tight. 

XX. 

Whither  blows  the  roaring  wind  ? 
From  the  churchyard  comes  its  breath, 
Deep  I  grieve  my  father's  death. 


VOLK-SONGS.  37 


Whither  blows  the  roaring  wind  ? 
From  the  forest  sweeps  the  blast, 
Deep  I  grieve  my  mother  past. 

Whither  blows  the  roaring  wind  ? 
From  the  highway  is  it  borne, 
Deeply  I  my  brother  mourn. 

Whither  blows  the  roaring  wind  ? 
From  the  ravine's  fearsome  head, 
Deep  I  grieve  my  sister  dead. 


B     000  012  476     8 


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